


Meld Together

by Telula13



Series: Please [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post The Great Game, Protective Sherlock, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash, small case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telula13/pseuds/Telula13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please John I can't take being apart anymore. I need to feel our bodies meld together so tightly that I won't know what's me and what's you. We'll just be one organism, one heartbeat. Let me make love to you?"<br/>Sequel to Please. Post The Great Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meld Together

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Blatant descriptions of two men shagging. Finally, I know! Hee Hee. If you don't like, then don't read.
> 
> Enjoy the JohnLock-y goodness.  
> (P.S. First sex scene I've ever written... and I don't really have much experience in that arena anyways lol)

"I promise I'll be back as soon as I can." Sherlock said.

He was standing at the doorway to 221b Baker St holding John's hands in his and acting a bit like a petulant child who didn't want to leave his teddy bear at home while he went to school. Well, on the surface that's what it looked like, but underneath terror slowly bubbled in his gut at the thought of leaving his John alone, what with Moriarty still out there. He had gone on very short outings to the store, ' _ick,'_  for John of course, but found he could get Mrs. Hudson to add their shopping in along with hers nearly every time. He had even gotten Lestrade to bring case files by eventually, for the boredom, but he had not been willing to risk leaving John alone long enough for a full case during his recovery.

Besides John had yet another nightmare about the pool and woke up screaming for Sherlock, who was curled around his doctor, per usual. Sherlock tried not to let on but seeing John feel that much fear and pain made the detective's heart hurt.

"Sherlock it's fine. I was the one who recommended you take on a case remember? Mycroft's guards are right outside; they won't let anything happen to me. I'll be okay, Dr. Stevens said I'm doing really well remember?  _And_ I'm an adult, and a doctor. I can take care of myself for a few hours." He smiled at his partner.

Sherlock looked at his feet as he said, "I know you can John, I just…I just worry. I don't want to leave you." He squeezed John's hands tighter for a moment.

"I know you do love, and I worry about you as well.  _But_  if you don't take a case soon you're going to drive us both up a wall." John chuckled before smiling his  _John_  smile. "You've been so sweet taking care of me all these weeks, honestly you have been amazing, but we both know that your brain 'starts to rot' without any stimuli for so long. So go solve the case, I'm sure it'll be easy for you, and then come back to me, yeah?"

Sherlock blushed with half pride and half embarrassment. "Alriiight," he said dragging the syllable out in defeat. "I'll be back for dinner, I promise." He gave John a peck on the lips, then pulled back only slightly so John could feel the next words he spoke right against his lush lips. "See you soon." One more quick peck and a possessive squeeze of John's hip later and he was off to hail a cab; leaving a mildly flabbergasted, and somewhat aroused, John Watson standing in the doorway to 221b Baker Street.

~o0o~

Sherlock relaxed into the faux-leather seat of the cab. As usual his brain had many streams of thought all at once. Some were focused on the tidbits of information he had received from Lestrade about the murder scene he was headed to, and of course his never-ending Moriarty loop, but most were focused on John.

It had been a little over three weeks since John had been discharged from the hospital. Although for the first week home he might as well still have been in that wretched hospital bed as he was asleep 90% of the time. The pain medication, plus his body's natural healing processes, had caused him to be very drowsy. He was also quite immobile because of his injured ribs and burns. When they had first come back to Baker Street, Sherlock had insisted he and John make Sherlock's bedroom "their room" because it involved no stairs and was nearer to the bathroom (also John's room happened to be right above Mrs. Hudson's and the old woman really did not need to be woken up by their…er…noises, you know, once John was up for it, but Sherlock didn't tell John this particular reason). John agreed quite easily, he didn't have many items and his old room wasn't personalized, not after years of the army and very few family and friends, so it was much less work to move his things. Promptly after the decision he then fell into a deep slumber in "their" new bed with Sherlock wrapped closely around him.

Sherlock found out reasonably quickly that he loved to watch John sleep. Sherlock loved how all of the worry lines on the older man's face disappeared when he slept. He also loved to synchronize his breaths with John's sleeping ones, to just meld with him and feel John's wonderful heartbeat.

They slept every night in constant contact with each other, sometimes spooning, sometimes just touching, and often with John's hands tangled in Sherlock's curls, but always clothed, much to Sherlock's chagrin. They had not gone past kissing, extremely passionate hot kissing yes, but kissing all the same. Sherlock noticed John would always stop them when things started getting too heated, saying he was tired, his injuries were hurting, or he wasn't up for it now, but soon. Sherlock would stop immediately because he abhorred causing John any more pain. He noticed John would always have a shirt on at night and even after having a shower. Sherlock wasn't great with emotions but he tried his best to figure John out and came to the conclusion that, as this was his first relationship with a man, John was probably feeling awkward and would get used to Sherlock in time.

There were also John's nightmares to deal with. Sherlock had been making mental notes of the best techniques to calm John both during and after a nightmare. Although John wasn't very specific about most of them, he had told Sherlock that they were all about him: Sherlock being hurt, Sherlock being killed, and John not quick enough to save him. John would wake up screaming and sobbing and latch himself onto Sherlock so tightly neither of them could move.

Sherlock shuddered slightly at the thought of the one John had woken up from this morning. It was a repeat offender, which started with John not jumping early enough to push Sherlock into the pool to avoid the bomb blast, and ended with Sherlock bleeding out in John's arms. John had finally admitted the details because Sherlock would get quite frantic when John's heartbeat would become dangerously irregular after this specific nightmare.

Sherlock was buried so deep in thoughts of John that he almost didn't catch himself when the cab jerked to a halt and his head went careening towards the seat divider. Luckily the seatbelt caught him. He shook his head to clear it, dropped some money through the divider, and continued to make his way out of the car and into the cheap building holding the crime scene.

~o0o~

"It was the fiancée, dull! He killed her in a fit of rage when he thought she was cheating on him. Turns out she wasn't, she was simply spending time with a friend of his to try and find out what to get him for their anniversary." Sherlock stated blandly at the crime scene a mere hour after arriving.

Sherlock, along with the crime scene investigators, DI Lestrade, and Sally Donovan, were standing in a small studio flat next to the body of one Megan Short. She had been stabbed eight times with a kitchen knife and her blood had soaked into the tan and blue Turkish rug in the living room. There were really only two rooms if you didn't count the bathroom, the living/kitchen/dining room and the bedroom.

"That's it?...Seriously? Normally you draw it out for a bit, make it more dramatic." DI Lestrade said before he could stop himself. He hurriedly added "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it's just different is all…. So can you tell me how you know this?"

Sherlock sighed his usual ' _I can't believe these idiots'_  sigh. "Honestly the incompetency of the London police is embarrassing." Though he seemed to say it with less vigor than usual, perhaps because John wasn't around it made his deductions less exciting. Scratch that, there was no 'perhaps' about it.

"There are multiple pictures of her with the same man. In quite a few of those she is wearing an engagement ring. The ring isn't on the body though, but it was at her time of death as there is a gap in the blood on her ring finger that would fit a ring band perfectly. There is also a smear of blood and a bloody fingerprint on her finger. The fiancée took the ring off after he killed her, obviously still angry. The ring couldn't have been taken in just a robbery because there's cash in plain view sitting on the chair and her purse is untouched. She didn't start the fight or break it off because all the pictures and memorabilia from the relationship are still displayed around the house. Also there is a list on her kitchen table called "Ideas for presents for Brandon" and it involves another man's name next to ideas on said list. Obviously she asked one of his friends for help and Brandon, her fiancée, got the wrong idea about all the secret messages and such and got very angry. He killed her brutally then took the ring in his last act of revenge. Well maybe not last, you might want to send a squad car over to his friend's house just in case." Sherlock explained in a somewhat bored voice. He kept unconsciously turning around to see what John thought, kept quirking his ears to hear the usual 'Brilliant', but realized John wasn't there and stopped himself. He even started to get a bit twitchy due to his growing anxiety of how long John had been alone.

Lestrade was quite impressed with Sherlock, though not because of his (of course) excellent deduction, but because of the emotion that was showing in his body (likely due to John-withdrawal). Normally Sherlock was so good about keeping himself tightly covered under his indifferent mask.

"Alright, um, thanks Sherlock. I think we can handle it from here. We'll put out a warrant for Brandon's arrest. I appreciate you coming by; I know it isn't the best time for you right now. How is John doing by the way?" Lestrade said the last part a little quieter. Not that it was secret; everyone knew the basics of what happened at The Pool.

"John is doing much better, thanks." He smiled briefly at Lestrade. "I really should get back though…got an experiment going." He said, clearly lying.

"Yeah, you should get back to your…experiment" Lestrade said with a knowing smile.

With only one thing on his mind, Sherlock hurried out of the apartment complex and into the street to get a cab back to Baker Street.

~o0o~

The cab ride felt much longer than usual to Sherlock. He started to get antsy: he tapped his foot, drummed his fingers on his thigh, bit his nails, and even started to recite the period table of elements in his head. He was on his last straw when the cab stopped a block away from Baker Street having gotten stuck in a traffic jam.

"I'll just walk the rest of the way." Sherlock snapped out at the poor cabbie. He threw some bills over the seat divider, slid out of the seat, and slammed the door. His stride was purposeful and ever graceful as he headed towards his and John's home. He breathed the fresh air deep into his lungs many times in an effort to calm the small, burning stone of anxiety in his chest.  _'John's fine, John's fine, John's fine.'_  He chanted in his head.

He turned the corner onto Baker Street and for a split second felt some of his anxiety ease as he set eyes on the familiar house. But all too soon his terror leapt far higher than before because 221b had smoke billowing out of its top floor window. His body sprinted towards their home before he had even told it to. ' _No not John, not my John. Please, I just got him back. Oh god what if Moriarty's come back, he said he would burn the heart out of me, and Baker Street is smoking. Please let him be safe.'_  Sherlock thought desperately. He wasn't sure whom he was pleading to but he  _was_  pleading. As his lungs were huffing breaths harshly from his body, his brain quickly thought to the car with Mycroft's guards in it, if this was an attack they were probably already dead and he didn't have any time to waste checking, not while John was in danger.

At last he reached 221b's door and he shoved it open, his heart sank when he found it unlocked, surely that was a bad sign. He rushed up the stairs, attempting to ready himself for what he was about to see…or perhaps fight. As he opened the door to his shared space with John he noticed the doorknob was not hot: it would have been if it were a house fire.

"John! JOHN! Where are you?" Sherlock shouted.

"Oh! Sherlock, I'm sorry…" John said. Sherlock shivered at the words, already imagining John, in Moriarty's clutches, apologizing for letting himself be caught. He followed the small voice to the kitchen.

He turned the corner to their small kitchen his body rigid with stress, and he saw John…John fanning a dishcloth over a smoking pan filled with some sort of burnt charcoal-looking food item. Shock jolted through his body.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock. I burnt our dinner –cough-…really, really badly. –Cough- I was all set to have a romantic dinner set up for us and I fell asleep and burned it. –Cough- Now the whole bloody flat reeks of smoke. I could –cough- barely get the window open." John was still fanning the smoke away and trying to stop his coughing enough to tell Sherlock what happened. "Ugh it's no use, the pan's ruined anyways." John said as he dumped it in the sink and turned the water on. Steam ballooned up from the now warped and blackened pan, before subsiding. At last he looked up and saw the raw panic emanating from Sherlock's eyes, though his face was still it's usual expressionless mask, and saw Sherlock's rigid body. John's eyes widened in alarm and he rushed to Sherlock's side.

Sherlock felt gentle, efficient doctors hands brushing over his arms, chest, and up to his neck and head. He knew they were checking him for injuries. John thought he was hurt. John's hands didn't find any injuries, so they stopped around Sherlock's beautiful cheekbones, cradling his head lovingly, as he attempted to bring Sherlock back to earth.

"Sherlock what's wrong? What's going on?..." John's voice was calm but tense. "Please talk to me…Sherlock, love."

At the word love Sherlock's mind seemed to jerk back to his body with a visible flinch, and he abruptly pulled John into a bone-crushing hug. His lips rained soft kisses all over John's head before he rested his mouth next to John's ear.

"I thought you were dead. I thought Moriarty had you, and you were at the very least captured if not-…dead." He whispered in a voice so broken it made John's heart hurt.

"Oh Sherlock! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. I'm so sorry love. I'm fine don't worry. I'm ok, the guards even came to check, but seeing I was fine they went back to the car. Oh Sherlock!" John could feel the detective's heart beating like a racehorse and he felt a rush of immeasurable guilt. John squeezed Sherlock even harder and gave his marble skin kisses.

Sherlock could feel his heart finally unclenching, his body relaxing, and the anxiety fading, although not fully, never fully. When John tried to pull away so he could look into Sherlock's face, the detective suddenly felt a desperate ache pierce through his being at the thought of being separated from John again. He thought he had almost lost John. John had already died on him once, the good doctor had stopped breathing, and his heart had stopped beating. Sherlock would not be separated from him again. Sherlock kept his body attached to John but moved his hands up to hold the beautiful man's jaw.

"Please John I can't take being apart anymore. I need to be as close to you as possible. I need to feel our bodies meld together so tightly that I won't know what's me and what's you. We'll just be one organism, one heartbeat. Please let me make love to you John Watson?" Sherlock said in a voice choked with emotion as he held John's face in his hands tenderly but fiercely.

"Sherlock…" John said softly, "It's- I want to, don't think that I don't, but…I just…" John's tongue darted out to lick his lips in a nervous gesture.

"Look I know something's been going on with you since we got back from the hospital," Sherlock winced at the memory of why John was in the hospital, then went back to gazing into John's eyes, observing any reaction to his words. "I don't know what it is but it's obviously affecting your ability to escalate our physical relationship. Although since we love each other it's not  _just_  a physical aspect of our relationship…Is- is it me? Did you realize that you can't have sex with a man? Do you not find me attractive that way anymore?" Sherlock said trying so hard to stay calm that he almost missed the flinch in John's eyes as he said the last sentence,  _almost_. ' _So does John not find me attractive? What if John doesn't love me anymore? What if that's why he's avoiding me?'_  Sherlock thought self-consciously, his mind raced a mile a minute.

"NO!" John shouted. "I do find you attractive, very attractive…it's kind of the opposite problem actually." John seemed to slump in defeat and wouldn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock was simultaneously happy and confused. John did find him attractive, but what did John mean about 'the opposite problem'?

"What do you mean John?" Sherlock asked as he attempted to get the smaller man to meet his eyes to no avail.

John shifted uncomfortably for a few moments before giving a resigned sigh. "I mean Sherlock, how could a man like you, brilliant, unique, never dull, and looks like a freaking model, want someone like me?" John paused briefly before continuing in the same sad, broken voice that made Sherlock's heart clench in pain. "Someone like me who is stupid, and boring, and broken, and scarred." John's voice caught on the word scarred. "Because I am Sherlock, I'm covered in scars now, surface and otherwise. How could someone as beautiful, as perfect, as you want me?" John finished by shoving his face in his hands dejectedly. He had finally said what he had been thinking (well, tormenting over) all these weeks, since they had found out their feelings were mutual.

Sherlock was shocked. Normally he was the one who wouldn't be good enough. He couldn't cook or clean (well…wouldn't cook or clean). He left experiments and body parts everywhere, he had little social intelligence, when he was annoyed he tended to insult whoever was there (that included John), and he was horrible with emotions He couldn't believe this was what John had been feeling all this time, his good, pure, loyal,  _perfect_  John. The John that he was sure he didn't deserve.

"John…" Sherlock started to say gently but firmly. In the back of his mind Sherlock realized this explained John's penchant for always being dressed around Sherlock. John was embarrassed, self-conscious. He tried to pry John's hands away from his face so he could look at those beautiful chocolate eyes. "John. Please look at me as I need to tell you something very important."

John reluctantly let his hands fall from his face; Sherlock wove his fingers through John's and put his other hand on John's cheek softly. He felt wetness near the crease in John's eye.

"John, you could never be dull even if you tried. It's fascinating to me actually; you're fascinating to me. Whenever I'm around you I'm never truly bored, even if I don't have a case. I'm  _constantly_  surprised by your reactions to things; they are never what I expect them to be. You are NOT boring John Watson!" Sherlock said, and he kissed the hand clasped in his own.

"You are actually quite smart, no matter what I say when I'm irritated. After all you became a doctor, went up ranks in the army, and you are getting quite good at deducing crimes now. You even seem to know what I'm thinking some of the time. You are  _not_  dumb John, my love." He kissed John's fingers again and continued gazing into John's eyes that had slightly less pain in them.

"You are scarred, but I cherish each and every one of them, and will for the rest of my life. I know everything there is to know about your scars and I love each of them because they brought you to me and let you stay here by healing you.

"This one," Sherlock bent down and kissed John's appendectomy scar through his sky blue shirt, "this kept you alive when you were eight. Luckily the doctors got your appendix out before it burst, a first of many steps in bringing you to me. This one," Sherlock kissed John's right elbow. "This is from when you broke your arm falling out a tree at thirteen years old. This knitting of flesh kept you safe so you could find me."

Sherlock came up to kiss John's left shoulder, exactly where the starburst shaped bullet wound was. "This one," Sherlock's words vibrated through John's shoulder. "If this scar hadn't happened then we may not have met, and we may not have fallen in love. I hate it for causing you pain,  _so_ much, but I also thank it as well. I would not have you without it." Sherlock kissed it once more and ran his tongue over the bump, leaving a bright, wet spot on John's shirt He felt John's heartbeat quicken.

"And lastly, these scars," Sherlock moved around to John's back, still hugging him, and started to place feather-light kisses all over the smaller man's back and shoulders that were still covered in bandages under the shirt. John shivered. "These you got while protecting me. I can't stand that I was the one to cause you pain…" John made a noise of protest before Sherlock stopped him. "No, it's alright, because the fact that they are even scars means they have healed, that can only happen when someone is alive, and that means you didn't leave me. So I cherish each and every one of these because they prove you are still here. You are beautiful to me, the most beautiful person in the whole world." Sherlock finally finished and came back around to face John.

John took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. "…And what about the psychological scars? You know I still have nightmares, PTSD…"

"…I have them too you know. About that night at the pool, and others." Sherlock admitted, and John looked at him, startled. "I didn't really tell you because I didn't want you to worry. That and I haven't gotten a vast amount of sleep since then…I like to watch you sleep. The dreams seem to lessen when I feel you around though." Sherlock smiled wryly. "So it's not as if I could rightfully complain about your nightmares. Besides, I'll take you any way I can get you John, and when can you remember  _either_  of us not being odd emotionally?"

John seemed to be holding tears back. "Do you really think that Sherlock?... Normal people don't find either type of scar attractive." He said in a choked voice.

"If you haven't noticed before John, I'm  _not_  normal."

John smiled and seemed to be giving in, finally. "No you're not, are you? You're quite extraordinary." Then he put one hand in Sherlock's thick curls and pulled him to his mouth.

The kisses started out soft and slow as their lips glided over each other's. Then John's tongue darted out to taste Sherlock's cupid's bow and Sherlock could take no more. He pushed John back until the shorter man's arse hit the counter while his tongue pushed it's way into John's mouth. It darted around tasting each and every crevice. His tongue brushed the doctor's teeth one by one, swirled around his cheeks and the top of his mouth, before finally dancing with John's. Their tongues moved together for what felt like hours before finally they broke to catch their breaths.

As they gasped for breath their swelling arousals brushed against one another and each man let out a moan. Their bodies were practically vacuum-sealed together they were so close. Sherlock brought his hands up to run them through John's silky hair and brush his cheek. He saw John's pupils were now dilated with desire instead of the sadness and fear from before.

"Do you believe me now?" Sherlock said in a husky voice.

"You really are attracted to this body…to me." John said in wonder, his eyes wide in amazement. "I mean I can feel it. It's not like you can fake reactions like this." John's voice was equally hoarse.

"Fantastic, may I take you to bed now? I believe we will be far more comfortable there." Sherlock said with a twinkle in his lust blown eyes.

John smiled and kissed Sherlock chastely on the lips, then proceeded to drag Sherlock by their clasped hands to their bedroom. John kicked the door shut with his foot and sat down on the bed, pulling Sherlock to him. Sherlock straddled John's thighs and they started to kiss again, but hungrier and more desperate this time. Their lips and tongues fought for dominance and they kissed until both their heads were spinning from lack of oxygen. Their lips were swollen, red, and hot from the intense snogging.

As they broke apart Sherlock spoke through his panting. "Are you sure John? Because we can stop anytime, I don't want to rush you. Besides you aren't fully healed yet and the last thing I want to do is cause you more pain."

"I love you Sherlock Holmes." John stared at him in awe. Sherlock was obviously aroused passed the point of no return but he was still only worried about John. "And yes I'm sure. I know you'll be careful with me." John said and he knew deep down without a doubt it was true. "Now do you have any supplies or did the Great Sherlock Holmes come unprepared?" John gave him a naughty grin.

Without looking away from John's coffee colored eyes Sherlock reached into the bedside table, pulled out a bottle of lube and placed it on the sheets. He then pulled John into another earth-shattering kiss. When he was satisfied John was nicely aroused he moved his body off John, swooped John's legs and shoulders up in his arms, and laid John in the middle of the bed in one quick motion. John tensed in surprise, but only for a moment, and then relaxed as Sherlock straddled his thighs, yet again, and slowly started to unbutton his shirt.

John made a sound between a moan and a gasp when Sherlock's hot lips descended upon his bare neck and his back arched off the bed. Sherlock's mouth sucked the flesh, his tongue swirled in circles, and his teeth came out to nibble occasionally at John's tan, smooth skin until John was writhing underneath him. Sherlock pulled back to admire his love bite handiwork, smiling at the light bruise starting to form; a mark that John was HIS, and only his. Sherlock found over these past couple weeks that his normally obsessive and possessive nature became a part of his love for John almost instinctively. He licked his lips to taste  _His_  John's unique taste, woodsy mixed with tea mixed with jam mixed with something indescribably John.

"I think we both are wearing far too many –gasp- clothes Mr. Holmes." John said trying to be mock-serious but his intentions were ruined by Sherlock's thumbs rubbing over his nipples sending little electric shocks through the army doctor's body.

Sherlock chuckled when he saw John's reaction. He reminded himself to file away every single reaction in his mind palace. He wanted to learn every single one of John's sensitive areas so he could make him squirm with desire every. Single. Time.

"I think you may be right Dr. Watson." So they started to unbutton each other's shirts with slow, tender motions and they took the time to brush fingers over newly revealed skin as they went. Sherlock was sure to be careful of the bandages on John's back. He knew John wasn't feeling much pain anymore but he was still very careful about the wounds.

John then started to unbutton Sherlock's charcoal grey silk trousers and started to push them down those pale hips he had ogled more times than one. He realized he couldn't get them fully off since Sherlock was straddling him. Sherlock groaned with frustration and need before he abruptly got up and tugged off his trousers, boxers, shoes and socks. He then proceeded to put his hands on John's jeans band.

"May I?" Sherlock looked to John for approval.

"God yes!" John gasped and Sherlock made quick work of John's garments below the waist. John lifted his hips so Sherlock could tug his pants off, and suddenly they were both naked, together. Sherlock then lay himself gently back down on John, but they still both moaned at the contact between their now uncovered skin and cocks.

"Oh god you feel so good." John managed to get out before he took Sherlock into another kiss. He licked the detective's cupid's bow again; it had become a habit, and then delved his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. He drew Sherlock's bottom lip into his mouth and nipped and sucked till the detective was squirming on top of him.

"Sherlock, I want to feel you inside me, I want to feel you come inside me." John said, his voice hoarse with need.

"Oh, John. Are you sure? You've never done this before. I-"

"I'm sure Sherlock. I love you more than anything. I trust you with my life."

Sherlock replied by pressing his lips to John's lovingly.

"I love you too, my dear John." Sherlock started kissing his way down John's body. First stopping at his nipples, Sherlock sucked and flicked them; he twisted and teased them before moving down to John's belly button. He gave the tan belly button a quick swirl with his tongue then trailed it across to John's right hip where he proceeded to give John a series of salacious love bites. John was groaning with pleasure by the time Sherlock got to his cock.

John's cock was already leaking precum and Sherlock lightly lapped it up with his tongue, tasting John's salty fluid.

"Oh god! Sherlock!" John gasped, his hips bucked involuntarily, and he attempted to return his breathing rate to a rate that would keep him conscious.

Sherlock grabbed the bottle of lube from the side of the bed and started liberally pouring it over his fingers.

"I'm going to start preparing you now John. It'll make it easier when I enter you. Just try to relax your muscles, it may hurt at first but it will get better." Sherlock made a small grimace at the thought of causing John pain.

John saw the grimace and latched onto Sherlock's impressive cheekbone, and started stroking it with his fingers. "It's alright Sherlock. It's worth it. You're worth it." He then pulled his legs up and spread his knees for easier entry.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him briefly and then leaned back to his place between John's legs. With his lubed fingers he first started tracing them around John's lower belly and down the small trial of hair there. He dragged them down his groin, then to the achingly hard shaft, which he stroked lightly, enjoying John's murmurs of 'Mmm. Yes. Sherlock. Sherlock.' He continued down to John's anus, that was now red and swollen with desire, and he poured a little bit more lube on before circling the tight hole with his fingers. John's cock twitched at the sensation.

"I'm going to start with one" Sherlock said in a husky voice he couldn't seem to control anymore. He then slid his slick finger in John's hole and John spasmed in mixed pain and pleasure. He was so tight around Sherlock's finger and Sherlock felt his own cock twitch in response.

"It's alright, just relax the muscles." Sherlock said soothingly. He felt John loosen and he started to move his finger in and out of John's anus. Every once in a while he would curl it at the end and he felt John's body quake with pleasure. When John was sufficiently stretched he added another finger. He started to thrust the fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch John.

The doctor was whimpering and twitching at the stimulation and his cock bobbed between them leaking more creamy fluid.

"Nnn! Oh God! Hurry up Sherlock. I want to feel you. Please." John gasped.

"One more then we're ready." Sherlock replied, barely holding himself together. As he slipped the third finger in he let John adjust for a few seconds then started to thrust harder. He curled them at the top of each thrust to hit John's prostate just right each time. He could tell John felt the white-hot heat rushing through him as the good doctor's body flushed and thrashed in a frenzy.

"Ahh! Now Sherlock! Fuck me now, before I come!" John moaned as he grabbed Sherlock's body in a desperate hug.

Sherlock took the lube and poured it on his now achingly hard cock and spread it with his non-occupied hand before taking his fingers out of John and lining up his hard arousal at the man's entrance. He then pushed in slowly, stopping occasionally so John could get used to his size. John was gasping and panting against his chest.

"Oh GOD!" "Oh!" They both said the moment Sherlock was fully sheathed in John's tight wet heat. Sherlock took John into a passionate kiss that he attempted to put all of his love and possessiveness and desire into. With John surrounding him so completely he felt cocooned in their love.

They nipped at each other's lips over and over. Sherlock was slightly nervous to move, not wanting to cause John any pain, when John tilted his hips causing beautiful friction.  _'It's time.'_ Sherlock somehow managed to think as he started to take himself out of John then thrust back in. He did over and over and he could feel the tension in his groin mounting. He finally had to stop kissing John so he could get some air. He panted against John's shoulder as John did the same to him; sending sparks and goose bumps tingling over his skin at the man's hot breath.

As he pounded into John he moved one hand down to John's leaking cock and stroked it. He put his whole hand around the shaft and made upward strokes that made the doctor's muscles tremble and his stomach muscles flutter. He knew John was close to release so he held himself back because he wanted so badly to see his John come, to see  _his_  John come because of  _him_.

He added a flick of the wrist at the end of his strokes to John's cock and he tilted the angle of his hips so that each thrust hit John's prostate, each and every thrust. His pace quickened and John's legs wrapped tightly around his hips. Their sweaty bodies slid together and Sherlock's tongue darted out to taste John's salty skin.

John was writhing beneath him, moaning in delight and repeatedly saying Sherlock's name, and Sherlock kept eye contact with the smaller man wanting to see every reaction.

"Sherlock, Sherlock I think I'm going to…AHH!" John shouted as he gazed into Sherlock's eyes, blown black with desire. When he came his own eyes rolled into the back of his head with the pleasure of it. His cock twitched as it released stream after stream of cum onto both men's stomachs and his body was wracked with waves of ecstasy. His muscles rippled and clenched around Sherlock's cock and that was all it took for Sherlock to come. He tried to keep his eyes on John as long as possible but they fluttered shut as he felt his cock explode into John's tightness.

"John I love you!" He cried in release before he fell boneless on top of John's quivering body.

They were both gasping for air after the best sex in either of their existences. Sherlock had never felt closer to John, completely sheathed inside him and wrapped around his naked body.

"I love you too, Sherlock." He replied in a sleepy, sated voice.

Sherlock slipped out of John and turned them over on their sides to cuddle. His mind was blown; he could barely form a thought, not just after an orgasm that powerful, but a connection that powerful. They had truly melded together into one being.

He realized they were both quite sticky from everything and John was already slipping into a doze, so he squeezed the smaller man's hand lightly before getting up to find a towel. John gave an indiscernible noise of protest but Sherlock was back quite fast with a warm, wet towel, and he carried on wiping John, then himself. He threw the towel on the floor; he could get it in the morning, and snuggled into bed with John, spooning him from behind. He covered them with the comforter and then wrapped his arms around John's waist and kissed the back of the smaller man's neck.

As they fell into an exhausted yet satisfied sleep, Sherlock thought to himself  _'I have him now, in every way possible. I'm never letting him go, not willingly at least. No one can take him from me ever again.'_

They slept peacefully till morning still wrapped in each other's arms. When they awoke they kissed languidly, lazily, until Sherlock mumbled something about if they want to know the proper result of any experiment they can't just do it once. He had a delectably wicked smile on his face. John reacted quite enthusiastically…and one part of him was  _especially_  enthusiastic. They proceeded to ' _test'_  quite a few…hypotheses…in bed, on the couch, and even at the table, until they collapsed into bed in exhaustion.


End file.
